


Motion Control

by strangeandcharm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Castiel, M/M, Paralysis, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 15:07:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeandcharm/pseuds/strangeandcharm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean can’t move an inch. Although thankfully he can move <i>some</i> of them...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Motion Control

**Author's Note:**

> Slow-burn porn. Set nowhere specific in season five.

 

 

~ ~ ~

 

 

Dean can’t move.

He’s not particularly freaked out by the knowledge; he knows it’ll pass and he’ll get his body back again, and he knows he’s safe. The creature’s dead – whatever it was – and Castiel’s assured him the poison will wear off. All things considered, it could’ve been a lot worse: he could’ve been eaten alive while paralyzed like those other poor bastards. Instead he simply hit the floor a little too hard and missed all the action because he couldn’t turn his head to see Sam hacking his attacker to bloody bits. Nothing to complain about there, no sir. Dean only has one scratch on him and he can live with that, even if he can’t lift his head to see it on his arm.

Sam’s out reuniting the woman they’d rescued with her kids. From what Dean saw of her gratitude she’s probably plying him with cakes and lemonade right now. He’ll be gone for a while, so Castiel’s watching over him. It’s kind of weird, having him here and not being able to say anything to him. Not that Cas is the most talkative guy in the world anyway, Dean thinks, flicking his eyes across to where he’s standing in the window, gazing out at the parking lot. Castiel’s never been particularly good at making idle conversation but Dean’s always liked trying to provoke a response out of him. Guess today’s one day that won’t be happening.

“This is very unsettling,” says Castiel suddenly, turning to face him.

Dean would like to raise his eyebrows but, well, paralyzing poison. No dice. He’s lucky he can even move his eyes and breathe.

“I’m not used to you being so quiet,” Castiel continues. “I can’t decide if I like it or if it’s against the natural order of the universe.”

He’s joking, of course, and Dean is always happy when Castiel jokes because it happens so infrequently. Shame he can’t clue him in on the fact. He tries to nod his head, make a sound in his throat, anything, but all he can do is blink. Sam had established a “one blink for yes, two for no” system before he’d left him and Dean was grateful for that – this shit could take a few more hours to wear off. He’s comfortable, probably a little high from the poison if he’s honest about it, so he’s not in a bad mood or anything, but at least if something does change he can try to communicate the fact with his eyes.

Castiel is staring at him. Dean stares back. It’s not like he can do anything else.

“You’re very vulnerable right now,” Castiel observes, and his voice goes down deep, deeper than it usually does.

Dean blinks once for yes. He wants to narrow his eyes but can’t. Castiel’s clearly up to something.

“You’re helpless,” Castiel continues, walking over to the bed in slow, measured steps. “Anything could happen to you while you’re lying here.”

Dean can’t react. Castiel stops beside him and places a cool hand on his forehead. He finds that he wants to lean upwards and into it but he simply blinks _yes_ instead.

“You’re hot. The poison is interfering with your body’s mechanisms.” Castiel strokes a finger down Dean’s cheek and touches his neck, apparently checking his pulse. “But you seem calm.”

Dean blinks another _yes._ He is calm. He knows he’s going to get better in a while; what is there to panic about? Although this is kind of odd. Dean has to admit that.

“Your body’s responses have been reduced to their bare minimum,” Castiel observes, looking him up and down contemplatively.

_Duh,_ Dean thinks, and he must have managed to roll his eyes because Castiel’s face lightens a little in response. Then he pulls his hand away from Dean’s neck and sighs.

“I used to be able to read your mind. I didn’t do it often because I respected your privacy, but at a time like this it would have been a fortuitous skill.” Dean stares up at him, wondering what he’s going to say next, but Castiel merely looks away. “I can’t do it any more,” he says quietly, and doesn’t speak for the next few minutes.

Okay, so he’s having a wallowing session. Dean can respect that. Castiel’s lost a lot of his powers over the past few months and that must be weird. But, hey, _hello?_ Dean’s not doing too well himself right now. If he could speak he’d tell Castiel to pull his head out of his ass and scratch his nose for him or something.

Instead Castiel turns around, places a hand on Dean’s chest and leans down close to his ear, so close that Dean can smell him; that heady scent of another person’s body too near to his own to be ignored, a smell he can’t quite place, but one which is anything but unpleasant. He can’t move his head and Castiel’s cheek brushes his as he murmurs, “I’m trapped in this body the same way you’re trapped in yours right now. If you only knew what I could do if I wasn’t–”

He stops, and Dean finds that he’s holding his breath as the world falls still. Nothing moves. There’s no sound of traffic from outside, no bird song, no wind or dogs barking or people talking. Nothing. The silence stretches on until Castiel says softly, “I need your permission, Dean.”

He leans back, gazing down at him, and Dean has absolutely no idea what he’s agreeing to but he blinks anyway. Castiel smiles gently, smoothing hair off Dean’s forehead. He continues for a few moments before rising up and slipping off his coat, throwing it onto Sam’s bed. He shrugs off his jacket, pulls off his tie and, somewhere down out of Dean’s sight, kicks off his shoes. Dean stares at him, confused, wondering if he’s going to break out of that body somehow and show him exactly what he looks like when he’s not trapped inside human flesh and bone, but Castiel merely stops moving and shoots him a sly, fond smile.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

Dean doesn’t blink. He holds his eyes open for as long as possible, feeling them water and blur, but he needs time to consider what the hell is going on here. He’s vulnerable, exposed, and Castiel’s in some kind of weird touchy-feely mood and he’s just removed half his clothes, for fuck’s sake. Dean’s not an idiot: he knows what this means. There’s been something building between him and Castiel since the day they met and apparently Castiel wants to get his rocks off while Dean can’t speak or move, like it’s some kind of power trip. It’s kind of scary but it’s kind of thrilling, too, and Dean stares Castiel right in the eyes for as long as he can before finally giving in.

One blink. _Yes._

Castiel nods in return, matter-of-fact, and the next thing Dean knows he’s on the bed with him, straddling his thighs and leaning over his face, so close Dean can feel hot breath bathing his lips. “I like you when you’re quiet,” Castiel says, his mouth hovering just out of Dean’s reach, taunting him. “You’re simpler like this. There are no complaints or insults. You should try it more often.”

_Bite me,_ Dean tries to tell him with his eyes. He can’t even frown. This is frustrating beyond belief. A tongue touches the corner of his mouth, runs along his lower lip, licks at the dip on his chin. Dean can’t move away and it tickles. He blinks rapidly, fighting to get some of his feelings out, and Castiel sees his eyelids moving from the corner of his eye and sits upright. “Do you want me to stop?”

_No,_ Dean blinks at him, like Morse code. _No. No. No._

Castiel’s expression remains peaceful as he drops his lips to Dean’s eyes, kissing first one eyelid, then the other. He nuzzles at him with his nose, sliding it alongside Dean’s before twisting sideways and down. He kisses him so tenderly on the lips that Dean wants to scream. He’s not used to this – this is so new, all of it, from the stubble he can feel on Castiel’s cheek to the care and consideration he shows his mouth; Dean’s kisses are usually frantic and hungry, not _loving._ His breathing speeds up as he tries to reconcile himself to the change, mind overflowing with all sorts of crazy thoughts – the foremost of which is that Castiel is a virgin, he’s never done this before, not with anybody, and suddenly Dean has the responsibility of being his first and he _can’t even move_. It’s overwhelming, he’s powerless and totally unable to respond in any way, but Castiel continues to kiss him as though he’s something fragile and wonderful that he’s scared he’ll hurt, and all of it drives Dean insane.

It ends with a shock. Castiel sits back on Dean’s thighs, gazes at him seriously and takes a handful of Dean’s t-shirt. He tugs and the material splits in two over his chest, making him gasp, and he gasps again as Castiel rubs palms over his nipples. Wow, he hadn’t been expecting that. Neither does he expect the tongue that follows, licking and sucking at him until his eyes flutter closed. Castiel is thorough and nowhere near as gentle as he was with Dean’s lips, teasing him with his teeth and pinching deliciously until Dean can feel his body tremble from sensation, the most it’s moved for the past hour. He tries to lift his head to see what’s happening for himself but he can’t: he still can’t move a muscle but he can feel everything, like his skin is over-sensitized, and Castiel seems fully cognizant of that fact as he licks and nibbles at him playfully. His hands sweep up Dean’s sides, tracing over ribs and collarbone and out over his arms, until Castiel interweaves his fingers with Dean’s and squeezes. Dean can’t squeeze back. He tries, holy _fuck_ , he tries, but his fingers merely sit loosely amidst Castiel’s and he pants from the effort.

“Do you wish me to continue?” Castiel asks gruffly, licking his lips.

Dean would growl if only he could. He blinks the affirmative and waits, expectant, as Castiel studies his unresponsive hands thoughtfully before placing them down on the bed. He starts to undo Dean’s belt. The mere thought of what he’s going to do next gives Dean a headrush that makes him close his eyes, giddy from disbelief. He has to fight to keep calm as Castiel slides down his pants and underwear. He desperately wants to lift his head and look down at himself – he’s getting hard, he can feel it, so the paralysis won’t be ruining his sex life any time soon, thank god – but moving is impossible. He can see Castiel well enough as he gazes down at his groin with an unreadable expression on his face; he’s frowning, actually, but Dean’s certain it’s not annoyance.

Fingers trail up the sides of his cock and Dean groans, urgent and low. It surprises him, tearing out of his throat unbidden, and Castiel flicks his eyes up to his face. The frown smoothes out on his forehead. “Do that again.”

Dean attempts to comply but nothing happens. _Dammit._

“Perhaps you need more stimuli,” Castiel tells him, sounding like a frickin’ scientist in a lab. His head dips down out of Dean’s field of vision and suddenly a warm, soft tongue is licking a line from the very base of his penis to the tip. The fact Dean can’t move or respond in any way is torturous; try as he might, he can’t make any more noise, and he desperately wants to rub against Castiel’s tongue, move his legs, clench his fingers, wriggle, buck, thrash, moan, _fuck_... but he can’t, no matter how much he wants to. Castiel licks him again and holds him upright before running a thumb over the head and kissing him at the base, tangling his tongue in the fine hairs there and sucking on his balls without the faintest trace of uncertainty or embarrassment. It feels glorious and Dean closes his eyes, realizing that he can’t influence anything that’s going on here so he might as well just lie back and enjoy it. He can feel his heart beating in his chest; the mild heat from the poison coursing through his veins; the way the blankets beneath him are digging into his hips where they’ve bunched up; the soft tickle of Castiel’s hair against his pelvis as he moves and the weight of him on his legs, but slowly everything starts to settle on his dick as it hardens and grows, the only thing really alive anywhere on his body, the only thing Dean gives a damn about right now.

Castiel keeps sucking around the base of his penis, stretching his skin and exploring every millimeter he can as though he’s trying to figure out what everything does – but one hand stays circled around Dean’s cock, holding him straight, a thumb rubbing up and down the side of his length in slow, teasing strokes. Dean can’t see anything; he can only imagine what those slim fingers must look like as they grip tight against his flushed skin, but he knows it feels fucking great. Castiel really isn’t doing what he should be doing – he’s not working him properly, going way too slow to bring him to orgasm, but there’s something about the almost casual manner in which he’s moving his hand that Dean finds irresistible because it’s so _Castiel_ : thoughtful, gentle, detached. He’s enjoying the feel of Dean against him because he’s not used to touching anybody else. Dean can see it on his face whenever he looks up – this is a whole new world for him, a world of sensation and intimacy. Dean tries to imagine what it must be like to be thousands of years old and to never have touched anybody like this before, but it’s inconceivable. Castiel’s existence is beyond Dean in so many ways and this is one of them.

The thumb that has been moving up and down against him for the last few minutes suddenly switches position until it’s placed right below the head of his cock, fitting into the sensitive little dip there perfectly, rubbing circles against the nerves. Fingers tighten and squeeze; slide up and down with rising speed. Dean blinks madly and manages to release a moan, thankful that he can at least give voice to the pleasure, moaning again and again as his vocal chords unravel and decide they want in on this feeling. Castiel responds by bending and licking delicately at the tip of his cock, taunting him with the feeling of hot tongue on hotter skin. The thumb moves away and is replaced by lips, then mouth, and Castiel is suddenly sucking him so hard Dean makes an agonized wail in this throat. He wants to move! He needs to move! He wants to lift up his hips and fuck that mouth _so hard_ but he can’t! He’s totally helpless and as Castiel figures out how to _suck_ and _dip_ and _swirl_ and _tantalize_ Dean finally understands why he’s doing this: he wants Dean raw, unencumbered by bravado and the facade he usually throws around himself. He wants to see him naked and vulnerable and not just in the physical sense. Castiel wants him stripped back, as human as he can be, and he’s picked the perfect way to do it.

“Mmmmm,” Castiel moans, one hand twisting at the base of Dean’s cock until he moans in response, wretched and uneven. And _fuck_ , he’s sucking him so hard Dean’s convinced he’s going to explode; nobody’s ever sucked him this hard before. He’s also never felt so helpless, so completely at someone else’s mercy, not even in Hell – because at least down there he’d had a voice to use as a weapon. Here he has nothing: he’s just nerve-endings and pleasure, totally at Castiel’s mercy, and the realization of his powerlessness makes him break into a sweat even as he decides that he doesn’t care because he trusts Castiel with his life. He gives himself over to his control so willingly that he couldn’t fight it even if he wanted to.

Castiel releases him unexpectedly, glancing up at Dean’s face. He’s panting and flushed, almost as stripped back as Dean is. He reaches out a hand and locks his fingers with Dean’s again, staring at them hopefully. Dean tries to move them, out of breath and dizzy, but nothing happens. His eyes meet Castiel’s and they stare at each other for a few moments. Castiel looks as though he’s going to say something but he doesn’t, holding back, and Dean frowns at him before he even realizes he can move his forehead again.

“Do you want more?”

Dean feels a twinge of annoyance that Castiel keeps stopping to ask stupid questions, but even as he blinks out a _hell, yeah_ he gets that it’s necessary. He can’t warn him if he’s not happy with this. Castiel’s keeping a clear head even if Dean isn’t, and he’s grateful for it. Permission given, he watches as Castiel reaches down and does something Dean can’t see because he can’t lift his head, but he figures it out soon enough. Castiel moans and something hot and solid slides against Dean’s cock, something that most definitely isn’t a hand, and Dean thinks, _I guess this is it_ with a rush of trepidation. But Castiel doesn’t do what Dean assumes he’s going to do: instead he grips both dicks in one hand and rubs them together so perfectly that Dean groans in unison with him, awed at how natural it feels. It goes on and on, a gentle brush of skin against skin until Castiel feels as hard as Dean is, and then the mattress wobbles and Castiel’s body rises up and into Dean’s eyeline as he arches over him. A mouth finds his, Dean closes his eyes and suddenly he’s totally lost in the sensation of tongue and warm breath and soft shudders while a heavy body presses over him and down, sliding flesh against flesh, rutting desperately and providing more friction than Dean knows what to do with.

His throat finally comes to life again and he moans over and over, unable to articulate anything into words, but he gets the point across as his moans seem to spur Castiel on. Each sound makes him gasp or groan in return; each whimper is met with a plunge of tongue in Dean’s mouth, as though Castiel is trying to dig the sounds out of him somehow.

It’s too much: Dean can feel himself peaking, but just before he does Castiel’s hand is somehow in his again and the feel of his fingers finally, _gloriously_ closing around the angel’s is almost as important as the orgasm that tears through his body.

Dean drifts for a short while afterwards, totally spent, exhausted from the ebbing poison and the force of his own pleasure. He senses rather than sees Castiel’s orgasm, feeling hot liquid hit his stomach but unable to do anything about it. It feels nice, however, and he appreciates it when a trembling hand slides through it and paints patterns, although he has no idea if Castiel meant to do it or not. He remembers how fascinated he’d been all those years ago when he’d seen his own semen for the first time and has to stifle a giggle as he pictures Castiel staring at it in fascination as well. He’s just too tired to open his eyes to see if it’s true.

“I’ve reconsidered,” Castiel whispers against his neck, and Dean finally blinks half-awake again in response to the unexpected words. “I like it when you’re noisy.”

“Mmmmm,” Dean replies, because it’s all he can manage. His mouth is level with Castiel’s forehead and he licks the sweat off it, wondering when he regained the use of his tongue anyway.

They lie there for a little while, silent and shaking, before Castiel leans back and climbs off the bed slowly. Dean doesn’t have to be a mind-reader to see how reluctantly he does it.

“Sam will be back very soon and I have something to do before he returns,” Castiel says shakily. He turns and picks up his coat and jacket, folding them over his arm. “I will see you later, Dean.”

He disappears. Dean blinks in confusion, wondering what the hell could be so important that he could just leave without even mentioning what they’d just done. He hisses and tries to sit up, but his body is totally uninterested. He can move more than he could half an hour ago, but he’s still completely helpless.

And then he hears the sound of the Impala’s engine roaring from outside and realizes that he’s completely naked on the bed with two loads of come drying on his stomach and Sam’s about to walk in and find him.

“Cas, you son of a _bitch_!” he yells, the words slurring a little but still perfectly understandable – and just like that, he discovers he can talk again. “You can’t leave me like this, you bastard! Cas! If Sam sees me like this you’re a dead man! Come back here and cover me up!”

Nothing. Dean lies in an agony of horror as he hears the unmistakable groan of his baby’s driver’s side door opening and slamming closed outside the room. Sweet Jesus, that stupid angel left without even thinking of the consequences, so wrapped up in his own way of seeing the world that the concept of embarrassment hadn’t even occurred to him. If his brother finds him like this...

“CASSSSSSSSSS! Get back here! _Castiel!_ ”

“Silence was golden,” breezes a voice off to Dean’s left, and he has to roll his eyes sideways to see Castiel leaning casually on the wall across the room with his arms folded in front of him, like he’s been there all along.

“Clean me up!” Dean demands, clenching his fists. It’s all he can do.

Castiel smiles beatifically, the look so unfamiliar on his usually stern face that Dean catches his breath.

“I asked if you trusted me, Dean,” he says, taking a step forward. “And you said you did. I think you’ll find that trust extends to me doing this.” He reaches out a hand and Dean is suddenly fully clothed again. Castiel’s shoulders sag a little as Dean glances back up at him, as though doing it cost him something, and Dean remembers how weak he’s been lately. Still, as the one who undressed Dean in the first place, it _was_ his job to fix him up.

“You did that on purpose to freak me out,” he grumps, breathing hard.

Castiel just looks at him. “Yes,” he says. “And it was very amusing.”

Sam opens the door and Castiel is gone before Dean can even think of a suitable name to call him, let alone say it out loud.

But it would have been a _great_ one.

 

~ ~ ~


End file.
